


Wet Roofs and Too-Old Little Boys

by TerribleImaginings



Category: Infernal Devices Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Suicidal Will, i cry occaisionally when i remember that i wrote this, i posted it on fanfiction first so if it looks familiar thats why
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 06:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3164108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerribleImaginings/pseuds/TerribleImaginings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will is thinking on the roof, in a storm, about 150 feet above the ground. No big deal. Jem is the only one who ever seems to know where to find him, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wet Roofs and Too-Old Little Boys

The Institute's roof was cold, a hazardous place. A boy his age could easily fall, easily have an accident up here. Maybe that was why Will liked it, he'd often thought. The risk that would drive others away was what drove him closer, kept him coming back. In the back of his mind, in his subconscious, he knew that Charlotte would never allow him there, by himself or otherwise. He would never admit it aloud to anyone, but a small part of him wished she would find him up there, throwing her glorious rage in his face in a way that could only be described as motherly.

On a night like tonight, though, it all its sheet-like raining fury, Will knew that one poorly-placed foot, one slip-up would mean the end of him.

Maybe that would be better for everyone. Maybe that was what he wanted.

The wind whipped at his unruly hair, sending it tickling along his pale face. Silent tears fell from his vibrant, sad eyes. He deserved this pain. He had, if involuntarily, killed Ella. He deserved this utter loneliness that he had secured like a suffocating blanket around himself. And that was why he could not act like a child, not ask Charlotte to hold him in her arms in a hug, not ask Henry to let him watch while he fiddled with his inventions. That was why he could not go back to his parent's home, his own home, his own sisters. To protect them from the evil that had been thrust upon him because he was unworthy of living any other way but cursed.

Of course, he deserved the curse; that was why Ella had died at its hands, that was why he was still paying for his actions, why he had to be cold and unfeeling to everyone. And everyone accepted his cold nature as the truth. Everyone, save for Jem, that is.

Jem. With his silvering eyes and streaked gray-and-black hair, neither spoke nor looked like the thirteen year old boy that he was. Will supposed that, much like himself, he'd been through too much to look like much of a child at all. Will knew, perhaps from experience, that that fact wouldn't stop him from yearning to act like one. It's where they found their common ground, perhaps why Will allows himself to risk killing Jem in favor of selfishness.

"Will." The voice came from behind him, breaking him from his thoughts. It was Jem's voice, the only one who knew that he came out here at all. He was also the only one, Will was hoping, that would care if he was up here.

"James," Will responded, taking a stand, careful not to step on the few loose tiles and go sliding to his doom. Jem wouldn't handle watching his new friend die that way very well, especially since he knew Will well enough to see that he wouldn't fall without doing it intentionally. In other words, Jem knew William too well.

"I thought you said you wouldn't spend time up here anymore, Will." Jem's tone was accusing but cautious, as if Will were on the verge of insanity, which he might as well have been, really, in his current state.

Will only shrugged. "I changed my mind." He paused, observing the fact that James wasn't taking what he was giving. "Would you accept it if I told you it cleared my mind?" he asked as Jem moved to stand next to him, sacrificing his dry clothes and relative warmth for the freezing rain and pummeling winds.

Returning a question with a question, Will style, Jem asked, "Was there a point to inquiring that?"

Will rolled his eyes. "How did you find me up here?" And why did he care? Couldn't he see that Will was poison?

"It wasn't necessarily all that hard when I knew where to look. Charlotte looked everywhere, Henry was in his lab, so I assumed you weren't down there snooping about; really, this was the only logical place." His eyes met Will's unevenly before continuing, making Will feel paper thin in his simplicity, like the shield he'd attempted to put up around himself was completely invisible. "Why were you up here?"

Will looked away from that gaze, the one that made it seem like its holder could see into your soul with so much as a glance. Maybe it was that gaze that kept him guessing at why Jem was so forgiving with him; maybe he could see that Will wouldn't be like this if he didn't have to be. "I really was thinking, Jem."

"You weren't thinking anything good." Paper thin. His soul flapping in the wind, Jem's now-cold fingertips the only thing keeping it from flying away.

"I don't see how you could possibly know that," Will spat, but it came out as more of a weak hiss than anything else.

"Because I know people, Will," Jem countered, his salt-and-pepper eyebrows rising without a question to provoke them. "I know you."

This time, Will's voice was barely more than a whisper. "Do you, though? Does anyone?"

Jem was silent for a moment, as if he were trying to concentrate so hard that he could see into Will's thoughts and decipher them into something to be understood by all. And so they sat there, the rain pouring down around them, feet planted on now-wet shoes that they would both be scolded about upon the marrow, but neither could see that far ahead, nor did they really want to.

After a long moment of heavy silence, plagued with words louder than those that could ever be spoken, Jem broke the calm, if it could be called that. "It's cold out here, Will." The suggestion in his voice was less suggestion and more command than anything Will had heard since he left his mother's voice.

Will looked up from his toes. "You can leave, if you'd like," he murmured.

Jem took a hold of Will's left arm, gripping it like it was a snake, firmly and without weakness. This was not the frail boy everyone fretted over breaking. This was not someone Will could refuse. "It's cold out here, Will."

Will understood enough. Jem had been sent to retrieve him, not to sit out in the rain and get colder than hell. "Okay," he said, beginning to walk to the door that Jem had come through a few moments before.

"And Will?" Jem said, stopping the other boy's retreat for a hard moment, not minding the rain pattering down around them and chilling their very bones.

"Yes?"

"I'd rather you didn't come up here anymore, at least not without me."

"Okay."

It really was that simple.

And with that, the boys found their way inside.


End file.
